Between Our Hands
by plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: It's a yearly tradition. At midnight on the date of their bonding, Jim and Spock look through their photo albums, reminisce, and fall in love all over again. This story is a trip through their memories as they recall them from all different stages of their life together. Lots of fluff, feelings, and affection.
1. The Tale Begins Anew

A/N: Thank you for checking out my story! I've been super busy writing lots of ficlets and answering prompts on tumblr during the last few months and wanted some special way to share them. Between Our Hands is an on-going collection of short stories that have been tied into a light overlaying plot. Enjoy!

**Between Our Hands**

Two immaculate flute glasses had been set side-by-side on the counter, gleaming from the soft overhead kitchen lighting. Intricate silver plating accented by small gaps and glittering faux diamond gems hugged the curved bottom and base of both, the exquisite decoration separated by a dainty opaque stem. While such luxurious features were perhaps more common adorning a royal tiara than a simple means to consume wine, the glasses were profoundly symbolic and nothing less than perfect for the occasion.

The stark sound of a cork popping cut through the silence of the condo, and was quickly succeeded by the gentle crackling of effervescence following a freshly opened bottle of expensive champagne.

A small plume of misty vapor escaped the opening and curved before dissipating as the olive tinted bottle was lifted and then tilted. It was gently rested against the rim of one glass as the pearly golden liquid rushed forward to fill the empty space of the flute, leaving a dazzling display of bubbles rushing upwards and escaping through the white foam that had formed at the top. The empty glass waiting to the side was filled in the same manner and the bottle deposited into a nearby bucket of ice.

Jim took hold of both glasses by their stems and as he made his way out of the kitchen, commanded, "Lights off." The neat strips of illumination dimmed, leaving only the soft glow bleeding out from the open door of the bedroom to light the way.

Carefully walking through the darkness, Jim arrived in the doorway and paused just to smile softly as his eyes fell on what waited for him there.

The lights were dimmed just enough to create a hazy, glamorous atmosphere, and reflected off the wall-to-wall strip of glass windowpanes behind the bed. Spock, clad in loose-fitting black sleeping attire, had already crawled into the middle and nestled himself underneath the covers, casually leaning back into the wall of pillows he'd built up behind him for support. His dark hair and garments starkly contrasted the light fabric around him, almost creating the illusion that he had an aura. A small stack of books in all different shapes, sizes, and colors waited patiently at his side.

Jim could have remained in that one place, simply taking in the pleasurable sight before him, but the slow incline of one pointed eyebrow inspired him to take his leave of the doorway. With one glass in each hand and the gentle smile never leaving his face, he glided across the hardwood floor in his soft burgundy robe.

As he closed the space separating them, Jim held the gaze freely baring unfathomable endearment that Spock followed his every movement with, returning it in full with soft, half-lidded eyes. When he arrived at the side of the bed, both glasses were carefully transferred to the care of slender Vulcan hands that had aged over the decades before Jim peeled the covers back to make room for himself to climb in.

Spock levered himself forward just enough so Jim could slip behind him and sit with one leg bent at the knee on either side, and was supported by the soft pile of fluffy pillows. Once situated and comfortable, Jim's large, warm hands tenderly cupped the bony Vulcan shoulders before him and slowly drew his bondmate back onto his chest. His hazel eyes closed, head cocking to the left as his lips fell on the delicate skin of Spock's neck before moving up and planting a kiss behind his ear.

Jim pursed his lips once more and then nuzzled against the silken black hair while his hands slowly ghosted down to Spock's pointed elbows. They docked there in a brief pause before he slipped his right arm securely across the lean Vulcan midsection in a possessive half embrace. Raising his left hand, he took hold of the fragile stem of the nearest glass and removed it from Spock's grasp.

Jim nudged his cheek against his ear and then turned his head so that his lips barely touched it as he uttered just above a whisper, "Happy Anniversary, Spock."

Before he could hear the reply, he could feel it–a surge of affection flooded into his side of the bond conveying the message absent in Spock's gravelly, deep voice. "It has been thirty-three years, Jim."

Jim's digits entangled themselves with the fabric of the dark robe as he asked, "At least a hundred more?"

Spock wouldn't dare point out the obvious lack of logic in such a statement, if only because the implication was enough to destroy every Vulcan control in his mind. Instead, he simply accepted it at face value, allowing his shoulders to lean back into Jim and turning his face to the side slightly.

"That is a most agreeable notion," he replied.

"A hundred more it is then."

Their glasses clinked and they drank, letting the flavor of the elegant, dry champagne delight their palates. Jim allowed the crisp wine to tumble about in his mouth for several moments before swallowing as he savored the taste, just as he reveled in the moment of another year and, thankfully, another opportunity to commemorate their anniversary.

It had become a ritual which began nine years ago. As soon as midnight struck on the day of their bonding, they would drink classic Moët champagne in bed and then reminisce on the decades they had spent together.

Despite Spock's general avoidance of alcohol, he was surprisingly agreeable to partake in what became their special annual tradition and at midnight, no less. Naturally, he preferred to be precise; after the time conversion between Vulcan and Earth, it would officially become thirty three years mid-morning. Over the expanse of time spent with Jim, however, Spock had learned that he could forgo pointing out minor miscalculations and imperfect timing in favor of allowing Jim to indulge in human sentimentality and cultural habits. It pleased him very much and Spock would willingly oblige, if only for that reason.

A contented sigh fell from Jim's lips, gracing over Spock's sensitive ear again. "Delicious. Do you want me to take your glass?"

"Indeed," Spock replied and when Jim's free arm unraveled from around him, he carefully placed his half-full flute into the waiting hand.

Jim placed both glasses on the nightstand, so that he could easily reach them again, and once more settled back against the pillows. He shifted Spock forward a little and then drew him back into his arms so that his bondmate was comfortably lying against his chest, his head supported by Jim's right shoulder.

He pulled on the blankets, the material lazily falling down the inner sides of his bent knees so that Spock's lower body was protected and warm. Jim nudged his chin against the pointed ear and referenced the once-neat stack of books that had toppled over from his adjusting the covers as he softly inquired, "So. Which one do you want to look at first?"

Spock's arms rested in a lax position on top of the blankets; caught between them and the pleasing natural warmth Jim radiated, he appeared utterly boneless and serene when he suggested, "As they are arranged in no specific order, I propose we begin with the one nearest to your hand."

"Logical as ever, Mister Spock," Jim replied, the smile on his lips apparent in his voice.

One dark eyebrow elevated and Spock turned his forehead into Jim's chin, acknowledging the compliment with his talent to emit a tone that was flat but hinting of sass. "Thank you."

A soft laugh fell from Jim's lips as he tilted to the left, reaching to retrieve the mid-sized scrapbook styled album within nearest proximity to him. His fingers fell on the blank white cover and he slid it closer. They had both been in agreement to leave the covers of all of their albums untouched on the premise that their memories required no fancy introduction; after all, there was no combination of words deep or warm enough to do justice to what the pages within them held, and, above all, it was _their_ story–one that only they would know and cherish.

Picking the book up, Jim lifted it above his knee and settled it gingerly against Spock's midsection. Spock's hands carefully took hold of both edges, his elbows rising to comfortably rest against the support of Jim's thighs.

"Are you able to see adequately?" he questioned.

Jim nodded as he peered over one black clad shoulder, the side of his cheek moving against dark Vulcan hair with the gesture. He slipped his hands underneath Spock's arms, letting them settle on the lower part of his husband's ribcage and softly replied, "Yeah."

And thus began the yearly ritual of plunging deeply into a profound ocean overflowing with memories and feelings–the tiny shattered bits and pieces of detail that had accumulated en masse over decades to create the greatest love, and, in turn, love story of all time.

It was a story rife with epic adventure and great obstacles and desperate risks... of perpetual longing and remarkable defeat and magnificent triumph... of joy, of sorrow, of loss, of regain, and everything in between.

It was a story that created, cultivated, and solidified an unrivaled affection between two people bound at the soul that not even death itself could destroy.

It was the love story of Jim and Spock, which had a definitive beginning but would never end, regardless of how much time passed or how the universe changed. That much was certain.

The tale began anew that evening on their thirty-third anniversary, and it all started when Spock drew open the matte cover of that book.

**Ending Notes:**

Thank you very much for reading! More chapters are coming soon. I have many to add.

Many, many thanks to:  
- My wonderful beta readers, druxy_kexy and ObsidianWrites  
- Scotty and Akaii, who have been an incredible wealth of encouragement  
- My amazing friends on tumblr who were kind enough to provide feedback on the concept of this entire project AND for the awesome prompts you guys come up with. Your imaginations are beautiful  
- You, for reading! :D *Hugs*


	2. Over the Threshold

Smooth and luxurious to the touch, the cover was heavenly against Spock's nimble digits as they gently swept across it. The album's clean scent was distinct and pleasing, undoubtedly an effect from undergoing the printing process.

It was a rarity to find new products such as books and albums in the current time; in favor of the convenience and improvement of technology, the use of paper in manufacturing had largely declined in the middle of the twenty-first century. Jim, however, had a known fondness for antiques, and especially books. He felt tangibility was an important attribute for some things that were deemed precious and had a habit of creating and presenting albums to Spock as gifts.

"Nothing's more precious than our memories," Jim had said the first time he made such an offer as he explained why he chose to have a physical copy made instead of a simple microchip. The gift had been presented on the Christmas after Spock's revival. Others followed as time passed, and their collection had grown to eleven books telling the story of two people who fell in love and grew old together.

The spine of the album made a creasing sound as Spock opened the cover to the first page, which displayed only Jim's handwriting in black ink.

"Talukh nash-veh k'dular," Spock read the Vulcan words out loud and then followed with the English translation written beneath it. "I cherish thee. Indeed, Jim."

He felt Jim's arms tighten around him slightly, his lips just above his ear as he quietly asked, "Do you remember the first time you said those words to me?"

Spock knew the question was asked for a different reason than simply receiving an answer; certainly, Jim knew very well that his memory was eidetic and perfectly efficient. Instead, it was inquired to stimulate the recollection of that particular event.

It was an appropriate beginning to their anniversary tradition since the first time Spock spoke those words was right after they had completed the bonding ceremony on Vulcan. His dark eyes shut as his thoughts traveled long back to recall that evening he would surely never forget.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He had read of it in his study of ancient Terran culture and while Jim more often took the dominant lead in their relationship, Spock felt a rather un-Vulcan streak of possession course through him this particular ships night; after all, it was the first and last wedding evening either of them would ever experience. Jim had gone far out of his way throughout the last twelve hours, demonstrating his own unfathomable reverence for Spock in covert measures during their secluded bonding ceremony on Vulcan. Now that they were in the privacy of their own living space, it was Spock's turn to reciprocate.

The moment that Jim and he had entered their newly combined quarters, Spock grabbed his bridegroom's stocky hips tightly and pulled him back towards him. Jim had no time to properly react to the action before he felt himself lifted into robust Vulcan arms and cradled to Spock's chest securely. From how strongly Jim felt himself supported within those two arms, it was clear that nothing in the universe would convince Spock to put him down.

Smiling widely to show his endorsement of the change in position he found himself in, Jim reached up and slipped his arms around Spock's neck. One hand splayed out into short black hair, cupping the back of his newly declared husband's head as he inquired, "Just what are you doing picking me up?"

Chocolate brown eyes met hazel ones and Spock barely cocked his head to the side. A single brow crept upwards as he questioned in reply, "Is it not obvious that I am holding the most invaluable treasure in this galaxy?"

Jim stared into Spock's eyes for several moments before his smile slowly faded. His eyelashes fell then and he tilted his head into Spock's cheek, arms tightening around him and the fingertips buried within his hair curling just slightly. Never before had anyone ever cherished Jim so much; the fact that this was actually reality rendered him utterly speechless. Jim felt a nose push into his hair before Spock's forehead settled on his own and gently moved back and forth in tiny motions.

"I love you," Jim whispered softly as he found his words again and nuzzled back, keeping his eyes closed.

In response, he felt a strong wave of affection flood into his side of the bond and saturate him, filling him up to the brim with feelings of adoration, appreciation, and desire. Jim's mouth opened slightly as he exhaled a breath and furrowed his brows at the sudden rush of emotion, his digits flexing and taking hold of whatever they could as long as it belonged to Spock.

Spock's forehead slipped away from Jim's and he tucked his bondmate's head into his shoulder, taking a moment to stroke a lock of dark brown hair behind a human ear. He then set off into their quarters with his sights set on the sleeping alcove.

Approaching their bed, Spock gently lowered Jim to it, placing him down as if he were fragile and delicate. As he began to straighten himself, Jim's arms tightened around his neck. The one hand buried in sleek black hair kept Spock's head above his, their lips just millimeters apart as Jim's eyes fluttered open.

"Don't go," he spoke quietly.

"It was not my intention," Spock replied matching Jim's tone as he raised his hand to cup his cheek. They gazed at each other as Spock's thumb ran across the skin just underneath one brilliant hazel eye–a half-hearted distraction before the space keeping their lips apart became none.

_My treasure, my T'hy'la. I cherish thee._

The words gently echoed in Jim's head and his hands fell to Spock's black formal robe, fingertips digging themselves deeply into the material as if he tried to mirror the intensity of the feeling behind what was spoken through their bond with physical strength.

And Jim did. Before that night was over, he made sure that their union was so thoroughly consummated that it would never, ever be broken.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Spock's right hand slid from the edge of the album and touched Jim's own, resting upon his chest.

"I could not forget," he replied softly, stroking his nimble digits across Jim's knuckles before returning his hands to the album. "Shall we begin?"

"Thought you'd never ask, Mister Spock!"

A slender Vulcan finger slipped behind the current page and turned it.


	3. The Mind Meld

Laughter exploded out of Jim's lips when the picture on the second page came into view, giving a hearty shake to both Spock and the mattress.

"I fail to understand why you find this photograph so amusing each time we view it," Spock declared, which only made the man holding him laugh more. "Especially when I explain the logic behind it every time."

"Look at our faces!" Jim exclaimed, raising one hand and pointing to the picture in which they both wore slightly awkward expressions. Jim's eyebrows were raised in what seemed to be surprise and Spock appeared pensive.

They had just completed the ritual that permanently linked their minds and souls together through the traditional bonding meld, and it was quite apparent from their expressions that they were both adjusting to the new feeling best described by the ancient Vulcan saying, "parted from me and never parted."

"It was to be expected," Spock began in an attempt to offer justification, as he always did.

"I know, I know," Jim replied, amusement apparent in his voice. "It's just that we make an interesting pair... just married and looking like that."

"If I may once again remind you," Spock continued, his tone erring on the edge of cheekiness. "T'Pau had just completed the ritual and the short adjustment period was well underway. It did not take long."

"You know, I knew what a mind meld was but I didn't really know what it would evolve into once you're bonded to someone for years..." Jim trailed off, pausing before he continued. "It was overpowering that day but I expected it then because, obviously, it was the bonding ceremony. I mean, it was easy to predict that having our minds connected would be an extreme experience so I should've known..."

Spock turned his head into Jim's neck, inquiring as his brows knitted downward in consternation, "Known?"

"That the emotional transference would only become more and more intense as we spent more time together," Jim finished.

"The bond we possess is extremely unique, Jim," Spock began and mentally felt along the silken ribbons which connected them for good measure. "What is shared between us is not common or even imagined between Vulcan mates today. There was no current data suggesting evidence that anything different should be expected from what is commonly experienced."

"So?"

"Without reference, it was impossible to predict that your human heritage and the part that is my own would have an amplifying effect on what is transferred through our bond. It is what made it possible for a T'hy'la bond to exist in this age. Prior to our union, such a bond was exceedingly rare due to the Vulcan creed of utilizing logic instead of emotion."

" I should've known though, Spock," Jim affirmed. "Just knowing how we were, how perfect everything was when we were together, how different we were from everyone else. I should've expected that our bond would only strengthen."

One hand slipped off Spock's chest, under his arm, and rose to the side of his face. The pads of Jim's digits gently fell upon his bondmate's psi points causing him to physically shiver and release a choppy exhale in response.

"See?" Jim breathed. "You remember that meld a few weeks ago?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Fingertips against fingertips, palms against palms, forehead against forehead, Human against Vulcan, Vulcan against Human.

Eyelashes like butterfly wings falling and rising in slow motion as their eyes meet, Deep breaths drawn in through lips only slightly parted that barely touch the other's, Anticipation volatile and astronomically mounting with every passing second, Every solitary touch electrified and rippling across every nerve ending, Every imprisoned thought and desire emancipated like a bounty of jewels tossed into the air from a pair of warm cupped hands, Heartbeats accelerating and racing like wild horses in an overgrown field bathed in late afternoon sunlight...

Two minds, two souls, two individuals soaring towards each other at lightspeed, leaving glittering trails of gold and blue stardust in their wakes.

The collision occurs with the force of a supernova exploding, more luminescent than the brightest raging star as individuality disintegrates to an intense sparkling verdant blur–voids and chasms suddenly overflowing as a massive tsunami of emotion rushes in. Their fingers interlock tightly and the wave crashes into them, lifting them both up and sending them careening straight into the stars. The crest breaks in slow motion as they leave the atmosphere, shattering like glass and enveloping them in thousands of memories that fall back and soak their combined essence.

Time flashes by faster than transwarp as each feeling, each memory, each moment embraces them with unparalleled intensity.

_captain_

_almost make me believe in miracles_

_at his side as if you've always been there_

_jim!_

_the ecstasies, the miseries_

_goodbye, my... my t'hy'la_

_i need him_

_this. simple. feeling_

_parted from me and never parted_

_have been and ever shall be_

_do not grieve_

_as surely as if it were my very own_

_the cost would have been my soul_

_don't you remember?_

_you used to call me jim_

_i feel fine_

_life is not a dream_

_you were never alone_

_everybody's human_

_i love you_

_i love you_

_**i love you**_

_**i love you**_

Jim's eyes snapped open and his lungs collapsed, Spock's hand dropping from his psi points like a lead weight as he slumped forward and crashed against his bondmate's body. Jim's arms shot out and caught him, holding him tightly as their foreheads met and they both gasped for air.

Their hearts furiously beat at the same interval as the waves of their meld coursed through them, the emotional transference rendering them temporarily unable to do anything but grasp to each other as if it actually threatened to rip them apart.

When the aftermath finally hit, all that was left was a warm and balmy feeling between them, their shared bond gleaming brighter than ever with no physical boundaries separating Jim from Spock or Spock from Jim.

Jim pushed his nose into Spock's cheek and let his lips plant a soft kiss there as the meld calmed. However, it was some time before they finally opened their eyes again and gazed at each other in transfixed awe, drowning in the all-encompassing adoration they both projected to one another.

Battered by surge after surge of emotion, Jim's glassy eyes spilled over suddenly and Spock took his face in his hands. He just held him, feeling a stray tear hitting his thumb as he simply placed his forehead against his Jim's once more.

"I am with you," Spock murmured before letting his hands fall and embracing Jim tightly.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jim let his digits slip off the side of Spock's face. "_That's_ what I should've known our relationship would evolve to right from the very beginning."

Spock closed his eyes for several moments of quiet reflection before he reopened them. "I will not debate you, Jim," he uttered and then turned to the next page.


	4. What's Mine Is Yours

Spock's eyebrows narrowed when the next picture was revealed; it was of Jim sitting in the captain's chair with McCoy, Scotty, Uhura, and himself standing around him. He flipped back to look at the last two pages before returning to the current one. "A photograph taken aboard the Enterprise during our second five year mission."

"Hm?" Jim asked, tugging on Spock's robes a little. "Why does that surprise you?"

"It does not."

"What about it, then?"

Spock nudged the side of his head against Jim's face and responded, "I will never understand the illogical method you employed to arrange our albums. None of these photographs are in chronological order, as one might expect."

A small laugh fell from Jim's lips. "If I had a credit for every time you questioned my logic... But it _did_ get you thinking, right? About the picture..."

One eyebrow lifted in interest.

Jim's hands slipped off of the flat torso they held to and he leaned forward so that he could reposition them on Spock's own. His fingertips massaged the thinner digits beneath his in gentle back and forth strokes.

"If the pictures were added by date," he began, his voice warm and soft, "we wouldn't appreciate all of them as much because it'd be easy to skip over the ones taken around the same time. But having them all out of order is like a surprise on every page. It forces us to look at each one and really remember what we were doing then."

"Fascinating."

Jim smiled and it showed in his voice. "Still think I'm illogical?"

"Sometimes, you do succeed in redeeming yourself." There was a playfulness to Spock's tone that only a trained ear would be able to recognize, and Jim certainly did. "But that is to be expected. You are, after all, talented."

Focusing his attention back on the page before them, Spock continued, "The particular mission that had been completed hours before this photograph was taken was quite the display of your finesse at not only captaining the Enterprise but diplomacy."

"Oh, please," Jim replied, but Spock could detect a hint of pride in his voice. "I'd be to first to admit what a brutal mission that was, but not really because of all the intense negotiation. That's just part of the job. You remember that, though? I think it was, what... three days I went without seeing you?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Spock was fully expecting to find Jim asleep when he entered their shared quarters. It was only sensible to assume, considering the last few rough days he had endured.

Jim and a strategically chosen team of crew members had just wrapped up three long days of intense negotiations with the divided people of Visukah, deep into the west Alpha quadrant. While they successfully averted the crisis of civil war on the planet, the monumental challenge to achieve that victory had left everyone involved utterly exhausted.

It was obvious that peace treaties were better left to the responsibility of ambassadors, but the Enterprise was the closest to respond to the emergency situation of imminent war on a planet rich in Dilithium–an obvious asset to the Federation in this part of the quadrant. It was nothing short of a miracle that the treaty between the two opposing forces was signed, with lack of sleep and lingering tension in the air constantly threatening to set the bridge to peace fatally ablaze.

Though it was an ill-equipped crew sent to respond to the quickly mounting crisis (even their confidence had been shaken… the thought of such high stake negotiations being done without an ambassador present was a ludicrous notion), Starfleet had decided that sending in their own veteran "superhero" would yield better odds than the risk of waiting for the proper personnel to complete their voyage. After all, every second that slipped by was one step closer to losing a pivotal resource in this sector.

If there was a way, a man who would never accept defeat would find it. And James Kirk did. When the ambassador finally arrived, her work could be likened to child's play compared to the massive opposition Jim and his crew had faced in getting that treaty signed.

Now cruising comfortably at warp five, they were headed to their next assignment as issued by Starfleet. It would take nearly three days to arrive at the planet, Ulmae III, which would be the focus of their new observation mission. The transit time would provide a more than ample recuperation period for the heavily fatigued crew members who had been enslaved to that discussion table for seventy five hours.

Unfortunately, though, this resting time would intersect with the winding down of another project that was finally granting Spock free time again, which had been a rare luxury as of late…

He stood in the sleeping alcove, his dark eyes upon his bondmate with one brow raised.

As Spock predicted, Jim was fast asleep. However, it was the way in which he found his peace that the Vulcan found intriguing. He had stripped, flopped himself on his side in the double bed, and pulled the cover halfway over his body. A black undershirt was cuddled securely in his arms–a black undershirt that belonged to Spock, and was apparently filling in for his absence.

Spock quietly stepped up to the side of the bed and sat himself down on the edge. He turned at an angle so he could easily see Jim's placid face and studied the wrinkles that had creased his skin.

Years had passed–nearly two decades, in fact–and yet, time had been kind to Jim. Though he'd aged and his entire body transformed, he retained the handsome qualities and charm of his youth. Jim was just as pleasing to look at now as he was when he had first taken command of the Enterprise. Not all could be fortunate enough to say the same for themselves.

How kind the universe had been to Spock to have given him someone so beautiful both inwardly and out... someone who understood that he couldn't always have all of Spock's attentions and was willing to wait until duty to their service was fulfilled... one who never complained that he wasn't first on the list when he damn well should be and _would_ be if he were with anyone else.

Spock reached out with his fingertips and gently brushed aside one stray lock of graying hair from his bondmate's forehead before he whispered, "Forgive me, Jim."

Though they were both on the same starship and even shared the same shifts, there hadn't been much time for them both to spend together in the last week and a half.

Ship nights of chess, deep conversations, and other more preferable activities had transformed into downtime Jim spent alone or in the company of McCoy and a casual bottle of Saurian brandy. Spock had been buried deeply as the point person in a high priority warp core rebalancing project which required cross efforts from the science and engineering teams. And while Jim hadn't uttered one word in complaint, Spock knew very well that he missed their time together because he, himself, did.

But tonight was different. Tonight, he could finally break away from his work. The emergency negotiation had both given time and stolen it from him. Three days without interruption allowed Spock to finish his major contributions to finalizing the calculations that would increase core efficiency and allow the project to wind down. However, it was also those three days that had exhausted Jim and stolen what would have been valuable alone time. The two of them both knew they needed it.

Spock's fingers gently stroked through Jim's hair once more. _Kaiidth_. Just being close to him would do. He laid down and shifted himself so he was right up against Jim, the black shirt within the human's arms between them. Leaning his face forward, Spock allowed his forehead to touch Jim's and cupped the warm human cheek with his hand.

He didn't intend to fall asleep like this, fully clothed on top of the covers, but finally being within such close proximity to Jim had soothed him, lulling him into a deep state of rest.

They slept, Spock's hand never slipping away from where it was placed.

Some hours later, Jim's eyelashes slowly parted to the sight of a handsome Vulcan face pressed against his own. He blinked several times in rapid succession to make sure it wasn't a dream before a soft smile spread across his face. Jim's arm left the shirt he hugged and slipped it over Spock, nuzzling his forehead gently.

Chocolate brown eyes opened slowly to meet their hazel counterparts and the two simply stared into each other's gaze before Jim whispered with a smile, "What took you so long?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Actually, it was, precisely, seventy seven hours, forty two minutes, and nineteen seconds," Spock replied.

"...Seventy seven hours... forty two minutes, and nineteen seconds?"

"I do endeavor to be accurate, Jim."

Jim laughed softly. "Tell me something I don't know. Damn. You know, thinking about that mission... You should've been there when we were discussing the peace terms. They fought with us on every line. Bones was so stressed that I thought for sure he'd have an aneurism. It all ended well, though."

"Perhaps you should consider an ambassadorial role," Spock offered.

"Listen here, Mister Spock. One ambassador in this relationship is enough. We'd never see each other and I sure wouldn't like that. And, with that said, I'd like to keep seeing more now."

Jim's right hand slipped off of Spock's and he turned to the next page.


	5. A Deeper Shade of Green

"I _love_ this picture!"

"I do not, Jim."

"Come on, we were both so young... and look at your nose, all green and shiny!"

"That is precisely why I do not prefer it," Spock replied. "Also, your photography skills leave much to be desired at times."

The photograph was of them lying on the bed together in Spock's quarters, immersed in desert-like warmth and surrounded by burgundy decor. Jim's communicator was flipped backwards as he snapped a blind shot of himself sporting a large grin with his cheek pressed right against Spock's. Spock, however, was simultaneously neither ready nor enthused by his action, and the result was a largely off-centered picture that was tilted to the left.

"Say what you want, but I love it," Jim insisted as he ran the pad of his pointer finger over Spock's face in the photograph. It was an extraordinary shade of deep green. "...And your nose."

"It was the third instance that I had even been ill at the time."

"And, yet, just as stubborn as ever..."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

There were many benefits to being the only Vulcan present amongst a starship of humans, and one perquisite in particular was that the odds of suffering replacement were, approximately, 32,375.89 to 1.

There were also several disadvantages, scarce as they were. Should said Vulcan fall victim to a strain of illness which only affected beings lacking a high concentration of iron in the blood, the likelihood of the starship's sickbay being able to effectively treat it with a collection of medicine fit for humans was low.

Unfortunately, Spock was in the midst of experiencing that negative side.

"Sorry, Spock," he could hear McCoy saying. "You're gonna have to let this fever naturally run its course. The only thing that can help you is a good, long rest which is _exactly_ what you're gonna get. I'm confining you to bed rest in your quarters for three days."

The doctor's brilliant blue eyes glared at him then as he continued, his voice a low drawl. "And if I so much as hear one _whisper_ about you trying to get up to work before then, I'll have you hauled into sickbay and strapped to a bed so quickly, you won't even know what hit you. We have an understandin'?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_Shhhhwwwwp!_

The red door slid to the side and granted access to the captain, who had gone off duty just minutes ago for ships night. As he stepped into the room, Jim was immediately assaulted by a dimly lit atmosphere of overpowering dry heat. While the desert-like temperature itself was bearable but not preferred, the low lighting was a welcome contrast to the hallways which were too hard on his tired eyes after a shift that felt much too long. It was rare that he harbored such an opinion of his time spent on the bridge, but, then again, so was the situation his first officer was experiencing.

The door slid shut behind Jim and he wasted no time walking straight through the space of the quarters, heading directly to the sleeping alcove. After he turned the rounded corner to his left, he could see that the covers which had always been neatly made up were disheveled at the foot of the bed. His eyes fell on the large bulge in the middle.

Spock was lying on his side facing Jim's direction. His head was heavy against the pillow, cheeks and ears stained a dark green. Exhausted black eyes were half-lidded, staring listlessly at nothing. Jim could see the narrow Vulcan chin barely quivering from chattering teeth as he arrived beside him.

"Spock," he said gently, his voice just above a whisper. Spock's eyes shifted up as Jim leaned forward and gingerly laid his hand across a scorching forehead.

"Jesus, you're burning up." His voice was soft and laced with concern as he flipped his hand and let his knuckles feel the sweltering flesh of Spock's cheek.

"I am… recovering adequately," Spock replied in a small, shaky voice that he had attempted to force into sounding normal. However, his body was trembling as chills racked through it and proved such efforts futile.

"Bullshit." Jim let his hand fall to touch a quivering shoulder. "You're shaking."

Spock merely closed his eyes in response as he felt Jim's digits slip off of him. He had been cold for the last hour, but his body was too weakened by the intense fever to even stand.

Jim turned and made his way toward the closet across from the bed. He extended his digits to the handle and, though his message could have been sternly delivered, it wasn't. He took care to speak gently. "You should've commed me. I would've come here much earlier."

After opening the door and pawing through the contents neatly arranged at the bottom, he procured two heavy blankets and then proceeded to drape them over Spock's body. Jim tucked the sides in around the shivering frame and then sat on the edge of the bed. He quickly began removing his polished black boots, turning his face to the side to look at him. "…You know that."

"U-unnecessary, Jim… Your duty is to…" Spock started in reply but was silenced by Jim slipping into bed beside him. His lanky figure was pulled into a pair of warm arms and cradled in the protection and security they offered.

"Shhh," Jim breathed, carefully coaxing Spock's face into his neck. "Let's get you better and _then_ you can try to lecture me about duty all you want."

They laid there entwined, Spock too drained to protest or devise one of his signature saucy replies. He simply surrendered to the warmth of Jim's body, falling into a mesmerized trance brought on by the steady beating of the human heart which had the remarkable ability to resonate within the depths of his own soul.

Prioritizing the needs of the one he loved, Jim neglected his post-shift growling stomach; he had come here directly from the bridge after spending nine straight hours with Spock's condition gnawing at the back of his mind. The only things holding him over were the scattered updates from McCoy, but even then, all Jim could think about was being at Spock's side to comfort and soothe him.

After some time, the chills subsided and Spock stopped shivering. Jim pressed his lips to his forehead in a soft kiss that lingered for several moments.

"Feeling a little warmer?" he asked as he brought a hand up and smoothed down strands of short black hair.

"Yes," Spock replied in a small voice with a single nod.

"Good. I'll go replicate you a bowl of soup and bring it over. I'll be right back."

With that, Jim disentangled himself, slipped out of bed, and took care to ensure there were no openings in the blankets around Spock's body. Jim ran his hand down the outline of one arm shrouded by the covers with a soft smile, and then disappeared behind the burgundy wall, leaving Spock to wonder just what he did to deserve the fathomless adoration of James Kirk.

Though he believed that he would never truly understand, Spock knew one thing was absolutely certain: he would do everything to prove that his own affection for Jim was just as great. He would protect and stand by this man—who was more precious than anything in the entire universe—in any and every way he possibly could.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

One pointed eyebrow lifted. "Stubborn?"

"Mmhmm…" Jim trailed off. "And don't even dream of denying it. Though, I have to say, you _have _gotten better over the years."

Spock's other brow mirrored the action of the first at that remark and Jim just softly laughed, inserting one finger behind the current page so that he could turn to the next.


	6. Improvements

Just as Jim was about to flip to the next picture, he was stopped short by an inquiry.

Spock's expression hadn't faded; in fact, it had only deepened in curiosity. "In what way have I improved?"

"I don't understand the question." Jim nudged his chin into the black hair. "It's impossible to perfect what's already perfection, Mister Spock."

Turning his face to the side so he could look Jim in the eyes, the slightest tinge of green may or may not have blushed its way across Spock's cheeks at those words. "I am referring specifically to how I have improved in terms of this stubbornness you insist that I exhibit."

Jim's brows raised and his lips parted as he lifted his face slightly before he offered his reply. "Oh. Don't get me wrong. You're still a pain in the ass sometimes when it comes to accepting that I want to take care of you when you need it, but hardly as much as when we were younger."

He let the book rest open across Spock's lap and relocated his hands to the deceptively gaunt arms, giving them a strong, quick rub. Jim's lips fell upon one shapely ear and he ran them down the side of it before continuing in a quiet, sultry tone, "Don't tell me you forgot about that other night already…"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A faint groan suddenly disrupted the silence of the bedroom as Jim pushed his shoulders back into the warm mattress supporting his frame, and then moved his head from side to side several times in controlled, slow motions against the pillow. Half asleep and having absolutely no desire to open his heavy eyes, he instead opted to squeeze them shut for several seconds while drawing in a deep breath. It was quickly expelled in a sigh from between his soft, thinning lips.

Jim didn't need his eyes to flutter open to know it was the middle of the night; had it been the morning already, pleasantly warm rays of sunlight would have been streaming in through the wall-to-wall strip of window panes just above the bed and softly illuminating the room.

Captaining for decades had ravaged what was once Jim's extraordinary ability to sleep through anything. Years of serving as a responsible leader, handling stressful situations, and living under strips of artificial lighting instead of a natural sun had rendered him unable to rest for more than a few hours at a time without stirring, even years after retirement.

…At least, that was how Jim explained his restlessness to others when they asked about the physical consequences of being a starship captain; both he and Spock knew very well that there was much more to that story, but, fortunately, his answer always seemed to sate the inquiry enough to prevent imaginations from wandering any further.

Now, somewhere between the world of reality and dreams, Jim was compelled by a subconscious impulse to turn on his right side, and as he settled comfortably into his new position, he reached out with his hand.

His palm fell open upon a cold sheet.

Jim's hand crept up a short distance and then down again before he extended his arm, his digits gliding a little further across the ripples in the fabric. His movement stopped suddenly as his eyebrows knitted downwards and then he began moving his hand in random places around the mattress with staccato patting motions, never meeting the touch he sought out.

With the heaviness of sleep replaced by confusion, Jim's hazel eyes snapped open to the sight of his arm stretched across the bed before him. He stared along his limb for several moments, satisfied to see the treasure he desperately searched for just barely out of the grasp of his fingertips.

Spock was curled up tightly on his side and facing away from Jim. Jim slowly blinked, studying the outline of his bondmate's body that poked through the two covers he had piled on top of him, and found himself squinting when he detected what he thought was a slight movement.

It took several moments of quietly observing the dark blankets that seemed to tremble against the far white wall before Jim became convinced he wasn't just imagining it. He quickly began sliding the short distance across the bed.

The unused portion of the sheet between them felt colder against his warm torso than it had his palm and he gritted his teeth in slight discomfort as he shifted himself right into the curve of Spock's body. Once he did, he could feel the lean frame of his husband shivering against his own. Jim softly cupped the boney Vulcan shoulder and huffed at how cool it felt, even through the robe that covered it.

Jim reached for his own blanket and tugged it so that half settled over the two already covering Spock. He then slipped an arm over his bondmate, pulling him tightly into the warmth of his chest as Jim lifted his face and nosed at a cold pointed ear.

The tip of his nose gently nudged at the icy flesh, as Jim tightened his hold on the man he wrapped himself around. He felt Spock stir, and then frigid, spiny fingers curled around his forearm.

"You're so cold," Jim's voice gently feathered into Spock's ear in a soft whisper, his breath sending a pleasing sensation over the supple flesh. "Come to me…"

Spock's reaction was immediate. He broke out of the fetal position he had curled into by straightening his legs and then turned to his other side. He was met head on with the same soothing warmth that always radiated from Jim like a natural furnace and melted into the arms ready and waiting to accept him—the same ones that had _always_ accepted him for the better part of his life.

Jim pulled him as close as he could, his chin settling against Spock's forehead as his hand slipped protectively up his bondmate's body, his palm gently settling to cup the back of his head. He settled his leg over both of Spock's next, entwining their bodies and then making sure the blankets were sufficiently covering them.

And then, Jim just held him, feeling soft breaths steadily falling against his neck. He held him as if he were a child, a trove of gems, something precious and beautiful and vulnerable. Jim held Spock until the chills subsided and he lay sleeping within his strong arms.

Pursing his lips, Jim gently kissed Spock's head and allowed his thoughts to wander back to the days of their five year mission together, when he had provided protection from the cool temperature of the sleeping quarters just like this. However, it wasn't long until everything blurred and Jim himself was whisked off back into much-needed slumber.

When he woke again two hours later, the sun was just beginning to rise and he found himself still comfortably entangled with Spock.

Jim's eyes slowly opened, his lashes fluttering several times like dainty butterfly wings. He gazed out across the room, reveling in the feeling of Spock peacefully sleeping, warm and serene within his arms. A soft smile pulled at the corners of Jim's lips and he closed his eyes again, nuzzling against silken black hair. Entirely content, he wondered if anyone in the entire universe could have been happier than he was as he slowly drifted off once more.

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

"No…" Spock's response was already quiet but he held the syllable a little longer as it faded out. His eyes were strongly fixed on Jim's in a significant gaze that spoke volumes more than his lips could ever hope to. Jim's eyes softened, his lashes falling just a touch as he returned the look. Spock very slightly shook his head. "I did not forget."

Studying the depth of each other's souls for several moments, it would have been an appropriate time for Jim to raise a hand to Spock's head and pull it forward, crushing their lips together in one fervid motion.

Instead, Jim's eyes closed and he leaned his forehead into Spock's, gently nudging it as his mind reiterated the same question that filled his thoughts several mornings ago. Could anyone in the entire universe have been happier than he was?

The answer…

Jim's eyelashes parted slowly.

…was no.


	7. Let Me Help

Their foreheads remained touching, each lost in several seconds of silent reflection before Spock pulled back just enough to see Jim clearly. The warm hands clutching to his arms had never left and their presence seemed to amplify the thoughts crossing his mind.

Spock stared into the hazel eyes which were meaningfully locked with his own; they were so entirely replete with uncensored affection and adoration that it nearly overwhelmed his mathematically wired brain. Nothing in the known universe was immeasurable, but the extent to which Jim purely adored him just might have been able to disprove that fact. The amount of regard and support he candidly radiated was humbling to the individual Spock was, who not only prioritized but preferred a life of frugality.

If he wasn't mistaken, the Terran term _spoiled_ seemed to resonate a bit too closely for comfort.

"You are very selfless, Jim." Spock held the gaze they shared before he lowered his own. "I regret that I have not fully reciprocated."

As if two fingers were snapped, the trance dissipated and Jim appeared to have been abruptly woken from a beautiful dream. His love-drunken expression instantly faded as he returned to reality, and with an immediate shake of his head, his eyes opened fully before squinting in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Spock's dark eyes remained fixed downward, staring at no point in particular. His mind churned in overdrive as he considered how to elaborate on his statement. For once, words failed him where emotions did not. Expressing them was difficult, as it always had been.

All at once, the hands on his arms tightened suddenly and gave him a stiff shake, the action like a magnet and drawing Spock's attention back to Jim.

"Don't start that again."

Spock's shoulders stiffened slightly at the sudden firmness in Jim's voice. "I am unaware of what—"

"Spock."

The sound of his name stopped him dead in his tracks. Jim obviously knew exactly what was going through his thoughts and, not for the first time, Spock wondered if his bondmate might possess some form of telepathic ability.

"Let's not repeat what happened on Valentine's Day*." Though his tone softened slightly, Jim's hands remained anchored with the same strength. "You give me so much, Spock—so much. More than I could ever hope for or dream of."

"You have an extensive and wearisome history of acting to ensure my well-being," Spock reminded him matter-of-factly.

"And you don't?" It was yet another display of classic James Kirk rhetoric—a question asked with no purpose of receiving an answer.

"Listen to me." Just as Jim's voice became even gentler, his hands left the arms they had held to and he slipped his own around Spock's chest in a tight embrace. "This isn't some kind of competition, but for as many times as I've looked out for you, you did the same for me. You put aside more than a few important facets of your upbringing for my sake, and that's more than I could ever ask for or even expect. You think I don't acknowledge that, _appreciate_ that?"

With Jim's knees still bent on either side of his frame and finding himself suddenly in the protective grasp of those two strong arms, Spock was engulfed physically and mentally by just how much Jim meant the words he spoke. He had a natural talent for conveying his emotions through body language, and the intensity was overwhelming.

Pensive silence lingered for a moment between them before Spock's hands elevated with open palms and latched on to the forearms strongly locked across his torso. He averted his attention to his digits and stared at them as he began to formulate the most appropriate reply.

That was when he suddenly felt a pair of lips press to his ear and into it, Jim softly spoke something that hadn't crossed his mind in decades.

"Let me help."

Spock immediately lifted his face as his eyes fell on the far wall, swept off and carried away by the memories those three simple words carried with them.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The trickling of liquid pouring and then one small tapping sound barely disturbed the silence as another full glass of Saurian brandy was placed on the desk. With his head tilted forward and shoulders slumped, Jim surrounded his only companion with the latticing of his loosely clasped hands. It made for a poor friend, though; the glass was small and could do nothing to contain or comfort the grief of loss overwhelming him.

With half-lidded eyes that no longer resembled the ones once filled perpetually with enthusiasm and life, he stared at his digits lazily woven together and just listened—listened to the gentle hum of the Enterprise soaring across a sea of stars. He listened for so long that it dissolved into negligible background noise, abandoning him in a deafening quietude in which the only sound at all was the echoing of his own thoughts, memories, and guilt.

_Did you do something wrong? Are you afraid of something?_

Jim closed his eyes and his fingers slipped apart from each other as her sweet voice filled his mind. His elbows were set on the desk then and he just allowed his face to fall into his palms, a deep breath drawn between his lips and exhaled.

Woman after woman, man after man, he had spent an eternity wondering what it would be like to really love and be loved in return. What would it be like, to be able to appreciate and cherish someone and have those same things reciprocated?

Jim decided long ago that he would never find out, that the affection he felt for others would never be returned with pure intentions. It had always been about control and what could be gained from him with everyone he'd ever become romantically involved with. He would give, they would take, and this would continue until each relationship became so lopsided that it turned into a loveless obligation to address someone else's needs, rather than a mutual privilege to adore and care for each other.

The Enterprise was no different, but she was of tritanium and energy, not flesh and blood. Her soul was but a mirror of those who served her and Jim had worked hard to create what was the most beautiful essence that any starship had ever had by establishing rapport and trust with his crew. The ship couldn't love him back, but she gave him other things—a place to belong, a bed to sleep in, a feeling of purpose.

It was more than he received from anyone else he'd been with and more than enough, Jim decided. And that was why he would tell himself he was satisfied enough to not reach for more when his heart told him differently.

…His feelings for Spock ran deep, possibly greater than friendship. Jim seemed to be the only one who was able to draw out certain behavior from his first officer—micro expressions accented by a twitching of his lips or rising of a brow, a very distant display of emotion that barely made itself known within his dark brown eyes.

But to jeopardize the harmony of the Enterprise—his lifeblood—on some off chance that all of these tiny indications of affection that Spock showed toward Jim were legitimate was a risk too great to take.

And then, one day, there _was_ no Enterprise. And Jim found himself in a time warp with no more than a far-flung hope of ever returning to the present as he knew it. …And that's where he found her.

Edith had become to him what his ship had been and then some; her presence was a place of solace, her soul a thing of beauty. She provided shelter, guidance, conversation, friendship, and affection. But most of all, she didn't need Jim. She _wanted_ him. And, in return, he wanted to love her for it. He wanted to love her with everything he had for showing him that a relationship could be equal.

So far removed from his own time with no idea if he could ever even return, Jim allowed himself to fall and found himself caught in Edith's warm arms, drowning in the comfort they offered.

_Whatever it is, let me help._

_Let me help. A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He'll recommend those three words even over… I love you._

The door chimed suddenly and though it was a soft sound, it alarmed Jim, heavy in his thoughts. He drew in a deep breath as his eyes opened to his untouched brandy.

"Damn it, Bones," he muttered under his breath. "Not now."

When another chime rang out, Jim closed his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh.

"Come."

His voice was monotone and loud—irritated, even. He turned his face as the door swished open and Jim's eyebrows slightly narrowed, perplexed, when he saw Spock standing there.

"Captain." His tone was cool as he stepped into the room, the door closing behind him. Spock's dark eyes fell on Jim before he inquired, "Am I… interrupting you?"

Jim only shook his head and waved his hand to the chair on the other side of his desk. "Not really. Please."

With his hands clasped at the small of his back, Spock quietly walked across the carpeted floor and slipped into the seat. He peered down at the glass of brandy before reverting his gaze to Jim.

"Doctor McCoy suggested that I check on your condition."

"Oh, so McCoy put you up to this. _That's_ why you're here," Jim stated, unable to avoid the trace of venom in his words. Naturally, Spock wouldn't just show up on his own out of concern. Of course not.

Spock's chin barely inclined in response, but he seemed otherwise unaffected. "I need not remind you that I am your second in command. Will you be fit for alpha shift duty?"

"And I don't need to remind you that I'm captain of this ship." Jim's eyes lowered. "I'm _always_ fit for duty."

"Jim."

His hazel eyes lifted once more.

Spock shook his head slightly. "Her death could not be avoided."

"Look, Spock. I'm not even thinking about her, okay? Stop trying to cheer me up, if that's what you're even trying to do. I have plenty of time before my shift and I just want to be alone to get myself together." Jim knew the start and end of his retort were contradictory, so he attempted to shift attention from that fact. "…No one seems to understand that though."

"Avoidance is an illogical approach to take while recovering from trauma, especially when mortality and affection are involved… and certainly when both are intertwined," Spock replied, his tone flat and expression blank. However, there was that… that _something_ present in his eyes again. He finished his thought quietly, "It is a most ineffective method."

A huff of disbelief fell from Jim's lips as he looked off to the side in frustration for a moment. He lifted a hand to his brow and rubbed at it.

"Really, Spock? _You're_ going to lecture me on how to deal with emotions? You and McCoy have it in for me today. You both—" He stopped suddenly, his hand leaving his forehead and gesturing in Spock's direction. "And you. Do you even _know_ anything about losing someone? About relationships, about being in love?"

Jim immediately regretted those words the instant they left his lips. He sat back in his chair and shook his head at his own careless mouth. His voice softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't…"

"Perhaps."

Jim's eyes were back on Spock's face again, at the surprise of his response.

"Perhaps I do. However," Spock carefully began again as he folded his hands before him on the desk. He pulled his lips tightly together momentarily, nodding. "It is likely a much different understanding than you have."

"I'm sorry," Jim repeated, the aggressiveness present earlier completely gone from his voice. "I'm sorry for everything I said just now. I'm just…"

He sighed heavily, closed his eyes, and then shook his head before it dropped into his palms in a display of grievance. "You're right. What you said is right. I'm not okay right now. I knew she couldn't live, but I can't understand why she had to die _right in front_ of me, why _I_ had to be the one to make the decision to let it happen." His hands fell to the smooth surface that had just been supporting his elbows and he looked off to the side, searching for answers that simply didn't exist. "I keep thinking… what if. What if there was something more I could've done. And that in itself, without taking everything else into consideration, is such a burden, such a heavy thing for someone to face alone."

"Jim."

Jim's face turned to see Spock's digits slowly flattening and moving forward in his direction across the top of the desk. It paused, slid ahead slightly more, and then stopped again.

"…Let me help."

Jim picked his head up at those three words. As the heart within his chest began to beat quicker and quicker, he stared into Spock's earnest gaze for several moments before he realized he was holding his breath.

And then it happened. Jim suddenly reached across the table, took the hand that was unsurely extended in his direction with both of his own, and leaned his forehead against Spock's knuckles.

He held to it tightly with both sets of his fingers, pressing his brow strongly upon it for what felt like an eternity before lowering it back to the desk again. As Spock's hand retreated slowly back to his side, Jim's eyes stared at some downward obscure point as if shell shocked and he breathed, "Thank you."

"Do you wish to play chess?"

Jim nodded, quietly replying, "Yes."

"Then I shall go to my quarters to retrieve the set. I will return shortly."

Spock stood and took his leave, and when he was gone, Jim swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He turned his hands over and peered down at the fingertips that had just held so tightly to Spock and wondered just how out of line that action was.

…Of course it was. He had acted on impulse, a sudden inexplicable drive that coerced him to latch on to the hand of his first officer—a Vulcan, no less. Incredible.

Even so, Jim wasn't pushed away, nor was he drawn closer. Perhaps Spock hadn't meant for him to take his hand, however…

_Let me help._

…What would it be like to really love and be loved in return? What would it be like, to be able to appreciate and cherish someone and have those same things reciprocated?

Jim continued to stare at his hands as those questions echoed once more in his mind. For the first time ever, he thought that maybe—just maybe—he already knew the answer but hadn't realized it until now.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was odd, but neither Jim nor Spock had ever brought that evening up after it had occurred, until now. Perhaps it was the incredibly raw visceral exchange between them—the first of its kind—that took their relationship from what had been just a passing thought to something much deeper, and then entirely unrestrained.

After that ships night, the casual touches and gazes they shared had exponentially augmented in implication of regard for the other that neither had yet spoken. It wouldn't have been until after the Pon Farr crisis on Vulcan and subsequent severing of the bond with T'Pring for such an exchange to take place, and when it did, neither was rightfully prepared to expect what would come with it.

Jim nuzzled against Spock's shoulder then.

…Or how long it would last.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A/N: *Refers to my fic written for the 2014 KS Valentine Calendar, Fulfilling the Needs of the One (Or the Both).


	8. Roughing It

The depth of the affection silently intensifying between them from the fervid transference of that last memory was radiant enough to act like a drug which sent perception into a haze. Though the bond was there as it always had been, it suddenly felt incredibly desolate to dwell within only one side of it when raw ardor was flowing in surges along the skeins forming the celestial bridge which connected their minds.

The only way to quell the growing desperation of solitude was to reach out and touch—join, become one, achieve completeness.

Acting on primal impulse, Spock's mind called to Jim's as Jim's to Spock's. And in that very moment, everything they knew magnified infinitely with a fresh rush of uncensored emotion—every touch, every breath, every beat of the other's heart resonating throughout the bond they shared—until the entire universe diminished to a place in which only the two of them existed.

Lost somewhere that barely orbited the fringes of reality, their individualities became indiscernible, drifting over the delicate mental ribbons gleaming with intricacy and eternally binding them to each other in one shared existence. The completeness was satisfying and soothing in this shallow meld—balm to the earlier onslaught of aloneness and the mental equivalent of a warm embrace. The inner flowing of thoughts and feelings ushered with it a sense of unrivaled comfort in which both Jim and Spock could only wish to perpetually dwell in forever, if it were possible.

Being bound to a dimension of corporeality made that an unattainable desire, however. Spock suddenly felt Jim's arms tighten around him, the action gently shaking both from the cascading dreamscape the bond immersed their combined essence in, introducing the concept of physical existence once more.

Gently retreating from the wispy nebular point of joining and slipping fluidly along the tendrils that erased individuality, both receded from the glittering universe large enough for only two, and eased back into tangible entities of the reality everyone else knew.

A large breath pushed out from Jim's lips as his shoulders sunk with the action. His eyes closed temporarily and he drew in a deep gulp of air as if drowning in the near post-orgasmic state the meld left him in. Even a shallow joining without the caressing of psi points was overwhelming when both of them allowed it to occur freely with no censorship of what was projected to the other.

"Well, Spock," Jim huffed out, sounding satisfied. "I believe we've deviated far enough off course. Care to get us back on track here?"

Though Spock was as equally glowing on the inside as Jim, his lifelong practice of keeping a calm exterior was certainly tried but not overcome. His hands slowly slipped off of Jim's forearms, reveling in the sensation of his fingertips sliding against the warmer skin, and then picked up the open album across his lap that had gone neglected for the last few minutes.

Spock turned to the next page, revealing a small, contained fire in the middle of a natural setting. Jim was kneeling next to it, a huge and proud smile stretching across his face. He was dressed in dark jeans, black laced-up boots, and a warm plaid shirt.

"Ohhh the camping trip! Look, look! You can't tell me you're not impressed by that campfire I made. It was from scratch, remember."

"Yes, Jim, it was certainly impressive," Spock confirmed. He had said so in the past but thought Jim deserved a little indulgence, considering that not many were willing or even knew how to start a traditional campfire in their century.

When he first went camping with Jim and McCoy, Spock hadn't understood why Jim illogically insisted on doing things the old fashioned way. They could have easily taken advantage of current technology that eliminated the inconveniences of gathering wood and manually starting the flames. It wasn't until the fire was actually burning when Spock realized there was actual method behind what seemed to be madness; the pleasing scent and comforting warmth surrounding him could have never been replicated by artificial means, and was definitely enjoyable.

"Hey this is… Yeah, this is the time we went without Bones," Jim affirmed, letting his eyes roam over the few pictures that were attached to the current page. "That was a good time, just both of us against nature."

"Actually, Jim, if you will recall, we went along with it more than against."

Spock could feel Jim smiling against his shoulder. "…Well, when you put it that way, you have a point… We were roughing it in more ways than one."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The warmth of the fire flickering a soft glow against Spock's sensitive skin was a welcome feeling, but it alone wasn't enough protection from the chilly, late night air of Yosemite National Park. He was kneeling on a soft meditation mat designed to support achy joints and leaned closer to the flames, his palms outstretched to absorb more heat.

Spock had thought he dressed thoroughly enough with two thermal layers under his blue button-up shirt and warm trousers, but it appeared that the weather was intent on disproving him. He sat back on his boots as a shiver wracked his frame, and lifted his hands to blow a tepid breath over his cold digits.

Behind him, he could hear the sounds of zippers closing and then leaves rustling from footsteps headed in his direction.

"Here we go!" Jim announced, opening a large, warm blanket and placing it over Spock's shoulders so that it pooled at his sides.

"Thank you, Jim," Spock replied, feeling his knitted navy blue hat being slipped over his head and the tips of his cold ears.

"Of course. Here, put these on too."

A pair of warm wool gloves was deposited into Spock's hands. Spock looked down at them for several seconds before slowly lifting his face and tilting it to the side with his eyebrows raised questioningly.

A small laugh fell from Jim's lips. "Maybe not then. Well, how about this instead?"

Turning to the fire, he picked up a towel, and carefully removed the percolator filled with boiling water by the handle. Jim held a nearby steel cup steady with his free hand and filled it three quarters to the top before setting the pot down on a flat slab of rock. He dropped a small bag of spiced tea inside and then picked up the warm cup along with a small glass bottle next to it.

He walked the few steps back to the mat, carefully transferred the tea into Spock's hands, and then sat at his side, slipping the cover over his own shoulders. Spock lowered to a sitting position as Jim tucked in both edges of the blanket to ensure that they both were securely enveloped and that there were no gaps for cold air to enter. When he was satisfied, he found himself quite eager to take a good drink of his own solution for the nighttime chill.

As he unscrewed the cap on the bottle, Jim let his cheek rest against Spock's shoulder and peered up at him, asking, "Comfortable?"

"Indeed, Jim."

"Great! Cheers!"

Jim gently clinked the bottle against Spock's cup and then straightened himself. His hand slipped out from the blanket, brought the small circular opening to his lips, and tilted upwards. The bitter sting of Wild Turkey immediately assaulted his palate and burned all the way down as he swallowed. He sucked his teeth and exhaled with a wince immediately after, staring into the campfire.

"Too bad Bones couldn't make it this time."

"Surely there would be a greater amount of noise had he accompanied us."

Jim was on his way to taking another swig when he stopped and a soft laugh fell from his lips. He nudged Spock's arm. "Hey now. Are you saying I'm boring?"

Spock turned his face to the side, his eyes falling on Jim's profile and responded in a serious tone, "I am not."

The mischievous grin on Jim's face never left as he took his second gulp and then turned his gaze to Spock. "Ah-huh. Well, if it's noise you want, I can certainly help with that. I'll have you yelling until you're green in the face so you better watch out."

Spock raised one eyebrow slowly, a knowing expression written across his features. "Please elaborate on how you will accomplish this."

"I've got one word for you," Jim replied with a smug look. "Here's a hint. It starts with an 's'."

"Do tell." There was strong interest—perhaps even eagerness—present in the deep voice from the Vulcan at his side. After all of the years they had spent together, Jim could read Spock's subtle expressions of desire as easily as he could read a book, and it amused him to no end.

That was why Jim offered a seductive smile and craned his neck so that his lips barely touched the nearest pointed ear. He exhaled a soft breath over it that he knew would make Spock shudder in response and then pulled back, plainly declaring, "Sing-along."

Spock's eyebrow immediately dropped along with his shoulders and Jim couldn't help but laugh at his reaction. "What's the matter, Spock? Not in the mood to sing a few rounds of 'Row Row Row Your Boat' again?"

"No, not particularly, Jim…"

"The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins, perhaps?"

He shook his head. "I am not familiar with it."

"Okay, okay," Jim chuckled. "I get it. You're not a singer… though you _did_ do fine last time when Bones was with us."

Spock's hands slid out of the cover and brought the cup he gripped at both sides to his mouth. Before he drank, he closed his eyes and stated, "I would prefer to produce verbal sonance by utilizing a different method that does not involve singing."

Jim grinned as he stared at his small bottle of bourbon. He was quiet for several moments. "Tell you what, Spock… I'll make you a deal."

Spock's eyelashes parted, revealing his dark eyes reflecting the glimmering light of the fire before them as he turned to Jim and lowered his cup.

"We'll get loud the way you want to—and I mean even louder than the sound of Bones bitching at us, if…"

Spock's eyebrow lifted in interest once again.

"If," Jim continued, his smile widening. "…you agree to stargaze with me later."

"That is a most desirable proposition with mutual benefit. I have no choice but to accept."

Jim's hand reached out and cupped the back of Spock's head, gently pulling his face closer to his own. His voice lowered to a soft whisper. "Then come here…"

The space separating their lips became none.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Snuggling up tightly in their double sleeping bag, Jim reached out and pulled the two heavy thermal blankets splayed over them up to their chins. He took Spock's arm between his hands and rubbed it several times for extra measure. "Warm enough?"

"Sufficiently so."

"Good," Jim sighed and shifted so he was on his back. Though it had been put out some time ago, the pleasing scent of the fire lingered in the air and Jim's eyelashes fell. A deep breath filled his lungs and he allowed himself to be whisked away by the sensory stimulants of the fresh outdoor atmosphere.

As if he had been readying himself for the very moment, his hazel eyes opened again and finally took in the dazzling display that the sky offered. He exhaled, scanning over the glittering cosmos.

"It looks so different from down here…" He was aware of the homesick tone of his words, so he nodded and repeated himself in a stronger voice, "Still beautiful, of course. But very different."

Jim felt Spock slip closer to him and he reciprocated the action. Their heads touched, gray and black hair meeting as they both continued to gaze up into the expanse of shimmering diamonds that had been their home for many, many years.

"Soon, Jim," Spock whispered, his thin hand slipping over the larger one at its side and giving it a firm squeeze.

A small smile pulled at the corners of Jim's lips and he let his fingers fill the spaces between Spock's, holding tightly. His face lifted and fell in a nod with a soft reply. "Yeah… Sometime soon."

They both looked at each other then, volumes spoken between their shared gaze before their eyes closed and their foreheads touched.

"It'll be you and me on that bridge again… and nothing but an open sea of stars just waiting for us to sail across together, Spock."

Spock's hand tightened on Jim's again and he nudged at his brow. "Soon, we will be home, Jim. Soon."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I was stargazing with my arms wrapped around the most captivating man in the universe," Jim mused. "Could life possibly have been any better?"

Spock turned his face quickly to the side, his nose nearly bumping into Jim's cheek and then raised one eyebrow. "Your flattery is unnecessary."

"Really, Spock? This again?" Jim scoffed. "You really think I'm just flattering you?"

Spock's other brow lifted and he cocked his face to the side, turning it back to the album. "You always speak as if I am something extraordinary when, scientifically, I am not."

"Hey." Jim's left arm unraveled from Spock's chest and he reached up. Cupping his chin, he gently coaxed his face back in his direction. "How many times do I need to tell you?"

No response was offered.

"Okay," Jim relented and let his hand fall. "If you insist on not believing me, I'll have to say it again… prove it to you, even. Scientifically, of course."

That pointed eyebrow was lifted once more.


	9. Perfect

Spock had declared on at least one occasion that Vulcans never bluff. However, James Kirk did when the situation called for it and, as a man who carried with him the dazzling captaincy career that others only dreamt of, he had many opportunities to prove he was no stranger to such a tactic. It was immediately apparently though that he wasn't idly speaking threats this time; indeed, he was about to make good on his word.

When Spock felt two hands press against his back and carefully lean him forward, he looked over his shoulder as Jim began squirming behind him. "Jim, what—?"

There was just enough breadth created that allowed Jim to maneuver himself to the right, clearing the space behind Spock with his far leg following. Once he wriggled his way to freedom, he reached for and removed the album from the nimble hands holding it before crawling to the side of the bed and extracting himself from the covers. Gracefully, the soles of his bare feet landed on the cool hardwood floor.

The book was placed across Jim's lap once he was comfortably sitting on the edge, and he put a brief pause to his mission by reaching for his glass.

Though the empty space behind Spock was radiating with warmth and the idea of letting himself fall back to melt into the mass of pillows waiting there for him was quite welcoming, he remained perfectly still. Senseless bickering between Jim and himself had been nearly non-existent, both on and off the bridge; their relationship always carried with it a placid nature that had bloomed from a mutual understanding of the other and acknowledgement of his differences.

Spock knew that fact very well. He was often impressed at Jim's tolerance of his Vulcan nature, and the lack of complaints he raised in the situations that arose from it. Surely, having a mate who worked so much and, at times, needed to prioritize matters of his profession over arranged personal plans was no easy situation for a non-Vulcan to accept. Jim hardly ever lamented over it, though; generous amounts of compassion and empathy were simply part of his character, and they, in turn, contributed to a long list of attributes that Spock admired about him.

However, from witnessing the interactions between his parents and his own experience serving in Starfleet, Spock was also very aware that humans were undoubtedly capable of feeling irritation over small matters as well; it was as much a part of their DNA as any other trait to be respected or deemed illogical.

Had he evoked that emotion now, and destroyed the evening because of it? Spock didn't often need to choose his words wisely around Jim or mince them, but he began to think that perhaps he should have this time, considering the occasion.

"Jim?" Spock tried again, as he watched him drink the rest of his champagne in two sips.

Jim placed his empty glass on the nightstand and then looked over his shoulder, flashing a grin at Spock, who was aware he appeared much too serious.

If it was in his nature to feel relief, he would have. Luckily, that look on Jim's face proved that his assumption had been wrong.

"Hold your horses! I know it's difficult to have patience when you're waiting to see pictures of someone as handsome as yourself but try to have some control. Let me find it first, jeeze."

Spock's shoulders barely lifted in response as he straightened and observed Jim turn to the album again. He began shuffling through the pages, but as he was strategically sitting on the edge, Spock was unable to see any of them.

"Where is it, where is it?" Jim mumbled to himself. It was a few more seconds of flipping through the book before he announced, "Got it!" and closed the cover on his thumb to mark the location.

With that, he whirled himself around, bringing his feet back on the bed and slipping them under the covers again. The smile he wore was large and satisfied as he slid over to Spock's side and flopped against the pillows.

"Here it is!" Jim reached forward and pulled Spock backwards so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder. He put the spine of the album on his thigh and opened it to the page he found, tilting it so they could both see.

On display was the official Starfleet staff photograph taken of Spock in his red captain's uniform. Though he stood tall and serious with his hands at his side, there was plenty of personality to be seen—Spock was clearly a captain deserving of command and having the lives of hundreds of crewmembers depending on him. He was all business, all Vulcan, and still incredibly easy on the eyes.

"Now _this_ is what I'm talking about! Look at this picture and tell me you don't think you're handsome."

It was a pleasing sensation, he noted, hitting into the soft pile of fluff that still retained some heat. Spock peered over at the picture of himself. "I am fully conscious of the fact that you are in agreement with my wearing this uniform."

Silence followed for several moments.

And then Jim simply smirked as he stared at the picture. "…You sure about that?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Spock closed his eyes and involuntarily shuddered as he felt the intricacies of his uniform coming undone.

"Believe me…"

It was Jim's voice, low, sultry, and soft, with his lips ghosting above one sensitive ear that was steadily becoming a deeper shade of green. His fingers, large as they were, traveled around the red jacket and undid the clasps, buttons, and zippers trapped between their chests with not one ounce of clumsiness or uncertainty.

Such confidence was to be expected; after all, Jim knew his way around this uniform like it was second nature with the habit of undressing it twice every working day: once to remove it from his own body and the second from Spock's. …Or vice versa, depending on the situation.

Both sides of the jacket fell open across Spock's torso, revealing his thin frame in the remaining form-fitting white turtleneck.

"It's not that I don't love seeing you dressed up all captainly and handsome," Jim continued as he slipped the stiff, red garment off of the slender Vulcan shoulders and tossed it to the side. "…because I do."

Spock felt one hand touch his face and gently coax it to the side, Jim's lips sliding across his lightly stubbled cheek as he drawled, "You know that, don't you?"

When he felt Jim pulling back slightly, he opened his dark brown eyes to gaze down into his bondmate's. His thin lips parted slightly and he nodded in quick succession several times before swallowing and whispering, "Yes."

"Good…" Jim trailed off, taking hold of the bottom of the turtleneck then and beginning to raise it over Spock's flat stomach. "But do you know what I love more?"

Spock's heart was steadily beating faster as his body naturally reacted to the greatest stimulus it had ever been exposed to—a love, a drug, an obsession also known as James Kirk. It had been decades of this and yet, Jim still had the ability to bring him to his knees, taking him back to when he was a young and laconic adult.

However, the feeling Jim inspired was quite different from those times. Where Spock remained reserved back then because of what he much later identified as insecurity and self loathing, he now found the words stolen from him out of pure awe. He was awed by Jim's ability to make him react the way he did… awed by how much adoration he held for this man… awed by the fact that Jim was his and only his. To the day, he still hadn't understood what made him so deserving.

Spock shook his head clear to address the inquiry, his chest rising and falling steadily as he replied, "I do not."

"Then allow me to show you," Jim plainly offered, his eyelids barely falling. "But first, this needs to go."

Spock leaned forward slightly, permitting Jim to pull the turtleneck from him and then over his head, exposing his bare chest dusted with soft black hair. The garment was tossed in the same direction as his jacket.

Next, those hands were on his belt, making quick work of undoing it and pulling it free from the loops.

"Of course, all of this needs to come off as well."

Jim was so good at this, so effective at teasing him and slowly building up his anticipation and excitement, so talented at making him want more and more and more…

Spock closed his eyes again, his cheeks and the tips of his ears growing hotter. His trousers were unbuttoned, unzipped, and falling down his long legs, pooling around his ankles. He felt large, warm digits hook inside the elastic waistband of his black briefs and slowly—painfully, painfully slowly—slide them down until the band was pulled forward and carefully slipped over his hard on. He inhaled deeply as his erection sprung free into the cool air, stiff and at full salute in all of its jade glory.

Pressing a hand to Spock's chest, Jim shoved him back so he landed on their bed with a soft thud. Next, he took hold of the remaining clothing that bound Spock's ankles and pulled them off, freeing him completely and leaving him utterly naked to his inspection on top of the covers.

"This is it," Jim declared, standing there, still fully dressed in his own uniform with his eyes scanning over the details of his husband's body.

He leaned forward, pressing a knee on to the mattress and carefully lowered himself on top of Spock, planting soft kisses down his jawline.

"You're perfect in your uniform," Jim softly declared before pursing his lips in a staccato motion as he headed back up. "In anything you wear, really."

He kept moving until he was right up against Spock's ear again and he whispered softly, lustfully into it, "But out of your clothes and blushing green from head to toe? …Now that's a good look for you."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

For as long as life existed, offspring were forever products of the environment—learning, adapting, and changing for the best chance of survival. What once began as merely a seed at birth would grow and take root so deeply within the host that it tangled and clumped around the corners of the mind, influencing thoughts and behaviors as it expanded its hold.

It was why some lessons could never be unlearned, why some ways of thinking could never be changed. Old habits, as subjectively logical or illogical as they might have been, were difficult to destroy when experience taught over and over that they were necessary to prevail and succeed in life.

For thirty-seven consecutive years, Spock had been an individual of two worlds that neither accepted nor wanted him. Despite his decisions to live a purely Vulcan life and purge all attributes that would go against its philosophy, Spock learned very quickly that, regardless of how he conducted himself, he would forever carry the disgrace of humanity simply because he was half made of earthen flesh.

Amongst Vulcans, he was too human and amongst humans, too Vulcan. And right in the middle of two warring sides were Sarek and Amanda: one who berated him for not being logical enough while the other was clearly dismayed by his lack of emotion.

Spock was born into an environment in which a familial bond was the closest he was permitted to feeling love for his parents. He grew up in a world of alienation and ridicule—spent years in which the only comment anyone had ever had was certainly not directed at his outstanding mastery of advanced subjects but his physical differences.

The ultimate rejection, however, occurred when he announced his decision to enlist in Starfleet. His parents—his own flesh and blood who created a son who could never belong—dismissed him, cutting him off like the foreign limb he had always been. Deserted and forsaken, this halfling went on to become one of the most highly esteemed officers in the entire fleet, but, even then, he was forever held and holding at an arm's length… forever believing from his conditioning that, no matter what his achievements were, he would always be imperfect and lesser than everyone else.

…And then, one day, Jim came along.

The smile vanished from Jim's lips as his hand left the edge of the album and traced over Spock's face in the photograph. Though it was just a picture, the pads of his fingertips slid over the glossed image as if it were antique lace—fragile, like Spock's soul was actually on display there instead of layers of printed color.

He lifted his chin then and turned to Spock with a familiar depth in his eyes. The skin around them had creased and the color of his brows grayed. The years had passed and time changed everything, but Jim's eyes were exactly as honest, warm, and accepting as the same as the first day they met.

"You're perfect, Spock," Jim said.

A moment of silence hung between them.

"Perfect," Spock repeated, his voice monotone and soft, his expression unchanging.

The corners of Jim's lips suddenly pulled outward across his cheeks, an overpowering smile that rivaled the light of every star in the galaxy spreading across his face. He nodded once and reiterated, "Yes. Perfect."


	10. Treasure

Spock's attention remained focused on Jim, watching intently even as he turned his face back to the album and began flipping through pages to locate where they'd deviated from; the lack of chronological order posed an issue in quickly accomplishing that.

As Jim began muttering, "Where, where, where?" to himself during his search, Spock leaned forward ever so slightly, and let his eyes fall to his hands resting atop the blanket. Still affected by the words Jim had spoken (after all, being described as perfect after a lifetime of rejection was impossible to simply just accept), he found his thoughts flailing to formulate some sort of appropriate reply.

Perhaps… '_No, Jim, perfection is what you are._'

Spock's eyelids fell and lifted in a slow blink; that simply wouldn't suffice… Though true, it was repetitive and didn't convey the depth of the response he wished to provide. His answer needed to articulate the extremity of Jim's importance, and considering that in itself was immeasurable, Spock found his mind rapidly flipping through a series of adjectives.

'_Flawless. Astonishing. Exquisite. Beautiful. Sacrosanct._'

All options fit, but none communicated the extent to which Spock cherished Jim—and upon that very thought, the lights went on in his head.

'_Cherished… Treasured. Treasure._'

Spock's shoulders lowered slightly as he exhaled, dark eyes slowly lifting when the correct term suddenly revealed itself, and brought with it the memory of when he last used it.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"_Damn it._"

Spock paid no attention to the low grumble that softly emanated from the open bedroom door; an abundance of experience had taught him that there was no need to address it. At the present time, he'd been exposed to the mannerisms of humans for more than half of his life and knew all too well how needlessly sonorous they could be… His own mate was certainly no exception.

It appeared to be acceptable earthen tendency to not only speak but _continue_ speaking when words were utterly unnecessary, to idly produce futile sounds in the form of humming or tapping, to overreact with cacophony or an abundance of _colorful metaphors_…

Quite frankly, humans simply enjoyed creating noise, and Spock was aware they could resist it no more than he could deny his own nature dictating logic and frugality. _Kaiidth_. What is, is.

He was seated in his chair before the fireplace with his PADD in hand, scrutinizing a detailed account of suffering Romulan relations that the embassy had provided earlier that day. The troubling situation unfolding in Spock's mind as he read on was enough distraction to justify his neglect of the continuing sounds of light struggle wafting through the air until…

An enraged groan echoed throughout the entire condo suddenly. "Bull_shit_! I give up!"

One dark eyebrow rose as Spock turned his face toward the bedroom that had become oddly silent in the aftermath of such an outburst. He gently laid his PADD down on the table and stood from his chair, the formal robes adorning him straightening against his thin frame.

Spock quietly walked to the open door and peered into the bedroom, a curious expression taking over his features when he found Jim sitting on the far edge of the mattress. Clearly frustrated, he was leaning forward, elbows against his knees with his face in his hands.

"Jim?"

Spock slowly entered the room, closing the space between them as Jim's arms dropped and he looked over his shoulder.

"I have an issue," he hotly spoke, standing and glowering.

Spock inclined his chin in interest but before he could further inquire, Jim reached to the flaps of his trousers and tugged on them several times, indicating they no longer could be buttoned.

"Look at this! These _just fit_ six months ago!"

Spock's gaze traveled to the source of his bondmate's frustration and then his eyes rose back up as he plainly asked, "Do you not have a substitute pair?"

"A substitute…" Jim began in exasperation before he tossed the flaps down in a huff. "_Spock_! That isn't even the point! I've been gaining weight like crazy recently and apparently there's nothing I can do to stop it!"

"It is a common side effect of medication, Jim."

"That's not the point either," he stated icily, letting his glare temporarily fall on some random place across the room before returning it to Spock. "It doesn't change the fact that I make you look bad and it's entirely my fault."

Spock's eyebrows knitted down in obvious confusion and his mouth opened; however, he had no opportunity to respond as Jim continued his tirade.

"Don't even tell me I don't! Look at you!" His hand was thrown in the air and fell to indicate the entire length of Spock's body. "You're thin and in perfect shape. And now look at me, at _this_."

With his face tilting forward, Jim took his bulging midsection in his palms. "Look at my huge stomach, how disgusting this is. For fuck's sake, we're going to a formal event at the embassy! We'll be around Vulcans, all thin and limber with their matching consorts at their sides. I should be a _complement_, not a distraction. Not _embarrassing_ you by promoting the stereotype of some overweight 'outworlder' too big for his own God damn trousers. But instead, here I am, looking like this—like, like…"

"Treasure."

Whatever words Jim had desired to say next were utterly stolen from his lips when he heard Spock complete his thought. His chin lifted quickly, clearly caught off guard as his gaze once again met his husband's. Strong Vulcan hands reached out and latched firmly to his shoulders.

"…What? Don't just say things like that. …Jesus," Jim stammered, his harangue effectively dissolved and replaced by bewilderment of the reverence in Spock's response.

Those dark brown eyes bore right into him, penetrating through his exterior layers as if they were nothing and then Jim understood the sincerity in that one word. His initial reaction of confusion and disbelief was soothed by the intensity with which Spock lovingly regarded and addressed him—as if he were speaking to his very soul.

Spock slowly nodded his head and he repeated himself softly, "Like treasure, Jim."

The inner ends of Jim's eyebrows elevated slightly and his mouth opened but he was betrayed with silence. He could count on one hand the amount of times in his life that someone had successfully subdued him—thieved the very words from his lips; it was his authoritative and competitive nature to thank for that.

However, there were also as few scarce moments when he appeared emotionally vulnerable and even less in which someone came to his rescue.

For all of his life, Jim had played the role of provider, overseer, and protector. He had always been the hero—always the one to make the difficult decisions, mend the open wounds, and provide direction and inspiration to so many others that it was easy to forget that he, himself, was capable of actually cracking and bleeding at times.

And now, when the universe had flipped upside down and he stood naked and vulnerable before Spock, he found himself experiencing the same comfort he would have given anyone else. It was impossible to deny the way in which he was lulled by what he could see in Spock's gentle eyes and hear in the warmth of his voice.

He was stubborn, however. Refusing to so easily surrender his assertion, Jim finally uttered a response, but his tone had softened greatly to where it was barely above a whisper. "…Well, I don't believe you."

"Are you certain?" Spock asked, lifting a hand and allowing his nimble digits to reach forth and push one gray piece of curled hair off Jim's forehead. "Do you not realize that I find you, today, even more appealing than I did when we first met?"

He stroked his fingers across the same path. "Are you not aware of how honored I am that you have chosen me? How honored I am to always be at your side?" Spock's voice softened. "Have I truly not proven this to you?"

Silence fell between them and time stopped, freezing the moment as they stared into each other's eyes, both searching for something that each knew had already been found long ago. It always came back to this in the end—this common denominator of Jim and Spock, both needing, both providing, both adoring and sheltering and nurturing.

"Here," Spock gently stated as his hand slipped down Jim's figure and lightly touched his stomach.

"Here." His hand lifted and was replaced over where the human heart beat steadily.

"And here." Digits then carefully stroked at the psi point on Jim's temple before they dropped and rested once more on his shoulder.

"You are beautiful, Jim, as you always have been. I will always appreciate all that you are with all that I am."

Spock felt Jim's arms suddenly slip by his narrow sides and encircle him, pulling him into a strong and needful embrace. They both simultaneously held and clung to each other tightly, quietly finding comfort in the other's arms.

"I'm sorry," Jim finally murmured into one slender shoulder. "I'm sorry for saying what I did. I was just frustrated that my trousers don't fit anymore."

"Then perhaps you should simply take them off?"

Jim pulled back just enough so he could lift his head and study Spock's face for several moments, his expression lightening and the hint of a smile playing across his lips.

"Why, Mister Spock! Are you _flirting_ with me?"

Two Vulcan eyebrows ever so innocently shot up in response. "I was merely proposing the most logical solution to the issue."

A small laugh fell from Jim's lips before they met Spock's in a brief kiss. When it broke, Jim reached up and entwined his fingers with Spock's hair, coercing his face down to his own so that their foreheads were touching.

"I like your solution very much, Science Officer. Perhaps you'd like to help me do what you suggested?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Found it!"

Spock's attention suddenly shifted to Jim, as he tapped a hand on the current page he was looking at.

"Here's where we left off, with the camping trip. You know, we really ought to go back there sometime soon. It'd be a good way to drag McCoy out of the house and—"

Remaining silent, Spock regarded Jim and his moving lips, but his mind was elsewhere. The moment had passed, and he'd once again missed an opportunity to reciprocate the confidence Jim had always given him.

However, Spock remembered that Jim didn't liberally dish out compliments for the sake of receiving them in return; they weren't words spoken for the purpose of trading, and perhaps it was better to hold off using it for when the time was right. Forcing the moment would only detract from the meaning.

"Hey."

Spock's eyes focused back on Jim's, realizing he hadn't heard anything he said.

"Something wrong?" Jim asked, concern present on his face. "We can stop if you're tired."

Immediately shaking his head, Spock replied, "No. I was simply considering something of importance."

"Oh? What's that?"

In the blink of an eye, the opportunity had come back to Spock, and this time, he would be sure to take it. The corners of Spock's thin lips edged upwards slightly. "The extent to which I treasure you. …But by all means, Jim, do continue."

With his mouth and eyes softening as he smiled, Jim's gaze fell to Spock's chest as he seemed to take his own moment to think something to himself, and then turned back to the album. He dug his shoulders back against the wall of soft pillows, adjusting the book so that the bottom edge rested across both of their thighs, and then turned the page.


End file.
